


Sleep Mode

by entanglednow



Series: The Fourth Wall [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-09
Updated: 2009-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 17:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Castiel expands his horizons, Dean is oblivious, and Sam thinks about getting a restraining order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Mode

It's the soft ' _tap, tap, tap_ ' that drags Dean out of sleep. Like the background noise to a strange dream. He blinks at the ceiling for a second before he decides it's brighter than it should be.

He rolls over.

Castiel's at the table, face lit by the glow of the laptop screen, like he's in some sort of tense cyber-thriller.

Dean thinks maybe they should have that conversation about addiction after all. Maybe they should all sit down and have it together and then ration their internet hours. Sam will whine about it, but he'll suck it up and go cold turkey. Cas might be a different matter, Dean kind of gets the impression that angels can be pretty obsessive.

But the expression on Castiel's face isn't exactly the sweaty hollow-eyed face of an addict. Instead he looks fascinated. Dean's already kicking the sheets out of the way before he's decided whether he's getting up or not. He moves across the floor, and it's cold under his bare feet, cold in the room.

"What are you doing?" he asks, barely loud enough to hear. He leans a hand on Castiel's shoulder and the angel, for a second, is marble under the pressure. But then he carefully relaxes, giving under Dean's fingers.

"I didn't intend to disturb you," Castiel says, equally quietly. "I can stop-"

Dean squeezes his shoulder. "No, no, man, it's fine, what else are you going to do, sit in the dark and wait for us to wake up? Which, I will remind you again, is really creepy."

He leans down, finds the glare of the screen, which isn't displaying fic this time but-

"Cas," Dean says carefully. "Are you using Google Earth to look for God?"

"I'm exploring the earth from a unique perspective. I do not believe God would be found so easily." He sounds like he's trying not to be upset about it.

"You never know, big smiley face in the desert," Dean offers. Because, he's got to be honest, if he was God and Castiel was looking for him with that much earnest hope he'd want to at least throw him a bone.

The low blue-green of the screen leaves Castiel's face strangely alien in the dark.

"So, what were you finding so fascinating?"

Castiel turns his head to look at him. "Your capacity to reach for things you can never hope to touch and yet somehow managing to grasp them anyway," Castiel says quietly. The globe on the screen spins under Castiel's drifting finger.

"Yeah, we're reckless and stubborn like that," Dean agrees, and he can't resist grinning at him.

Castiel surprises him by smiling back, one soft curve of mouth, and Dean thinks maybe that's new, because he doesn't remember seeing it before.

It takes a long time to slide away.

Dean huffs laughter and leans all the way into Castiel's shoulders.

"So, have you finished your exploration of our adventures through fiction then?"

Castiel is quiet for long enough that Dean's half sure he's working towards something important.

"I found myself...uncomfortable with the subject matter I was exploring," he says carefully.

Dean tenses.

"What did I tell you, if you read something you didn't like you should come and ask me about it."

"I'm not a child, Dean." Castiel reminds him again, and the more he says that the tighter that note of tension in his voice gets. "I have been exposed to far worse in my time, both on earth and below."

Dean waves a hand.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm sorry. So, what drove you away from the fiction and towards the satellite imaging then?"

"I was exploring the smaller category of fiction where I'm paired with Sam."

Dean frowns over his shoulder.

"Why?" And ok, he could probably have sounded less enthusiastic about that. But only just.

"I was curious why they were so insistent that I don't like him."

"They don't think you like Sam?" he asks, confused. Because, as far as he can remember, Sam and Cas hadn't really ever spoken before Sam came back.

"The general consensus seems to be that I believe him to be evil, or at least too close to demon to be trusted. That, should he return to you in the books, he will still be harbouring a secret predilection for evil deeds. That he will betray you once again, and perhaps even has a destiny as your nemesis."

Dean turns to look at Sam. Who's currently sprawled out on the other bed, hair looking like it's trying to escape into the pillow. He has one arm wound under his body, the other stretched out to the side. A leg has fallen out from the sheet and his foot's trailing on the floor, in defiance of every 'something under the bed' story that's ever been written. He's snoring with the sort of soft but reverberating clarity that Dean has long been immune to.

Occasionally he makes a squeaky noise and mumbles into his own arm.

Dean raises an eyebrow at Castiel, as if to say 'really, really?' Castiel is either unaware of Dean's eyebrow language or he's choosing not to participate because it's beneath him.

He does however tilt his head a little to the side, as if to share the point that Sam is currently failing at being an evil demonic mastermind.

"We seem to be paired together to hurt you in some way, or to console each other after your death," Castiel adds.

"I thought you weren't reading the death fic?" Dean points out, because it's easier to be pissed about that than about Castiel cheating on him with Sam.

"It wasn't labelled as such," Castiel protests and there's a flare of irritated accusation there. "I was caught unaware, and then I was left curious about the phenomenon."

Dean raises an eyebrow for the angel to continue, because clearly there's more.

"Yeah, and?"

Dean watches his mouth pull down at the edge.

"I did not wish to read about you being dead any more," Castiel says flatly.

Dean digs his fingers into Castiel's shoulders.

"I don't blame you, man, I don't think I'd like reading about you being dead either."

"I did find a small but very vocal community who are vehemently opposed to the perceived abuse of your brother. They believe Sam has been, and is still being, cruelly mistreated. They are...enthusiastic in their devotion."

"Did you bookmark it for Sam?" Dean asks.

"I did."

Dean pats his shoulder.

"Good job."

He leans an arm over Castiel's shoulder and clicks on what looks like a little bowl of soup but turns out to be a volcano when the screen zooms in.

"Heh, cool. You could probably use this to look for, I don't know, demonic omens or something. I don't have a clue what the delay is."

"The satellite images are updated far too sporadically for it to be a serviceable tool in real time," Castiel offers dejectedly. Like he's already thought about it, and Dean's fairly sure that he's right, that maybe Cas is spending too much time on the internet.

Though, it's not like the angel has anything else to do, outside of his search for God and his quest to learn about humanity. Which- Dean's not entirely sure how that's going so far.

"Don't stay up too long."

"I don't sleep, Dean," Castiel reminds him quietly.

"That's not the point, the internet will burn your eyeballs out if you stare at it too long. It's like the sun that way."

Castiel makes a noise that suggests he doubts the validity of that statement, and, hey, when did Dean's brain start sounding like Cas?

He lays a hand where Castiel's shoulder meets his neck, all cool skin and the almost sharp edge of shirt collar, and squeezes.

Castiel's hand goes very still where it's been scrolling, so clearly he's found something fascinating.

Dean lets his hands slide away, finds his way back to bed.

After a long minute the tiny clicks start up again.

He lets them lull him back to sleep.

  
~~~~

  
Something weird is going on.

Sam can't quite remember what he was doing a minute ago, but now he's alone in an empty motel room. Though he could have sworn he moved back in with Castiel and Dean.

Also, this is a much nicer room.

Because he's pretty sure their room didn't have a fireplace.

Or a view out to sea.

He thinks maybe he's dreaming.

His laptop in shut on the bed, though it's making a quiet humming noise like its just waiting for him to open it and do something productive. Or open it and do something that will lead to Chuck sending him angry drunken text messages about cruel and unusual punishment.

It lays there, inert, like it will be happy with either option.

He thinks maybe his subconscious is getting sick of him, because there isn't even a hint of suggestion or metaphor about this.

Yeah, his dreams are pretty much smacking him in the face right about now.

His subconscious is kind of a douche.

He sits on the bed, draws it into his lap and opens it.

His desktop is covered in clowns.

"Oh, that's freakin' hilarious, thank you."

Subconscious, really, really a douche.

He opens his bookmarks and starts slowly and methodically deleting them. Every single one, even the ones that have nothing to do with internet porn. He's going to wipe the entire thing clean and fill it with...pictures of kittens or something. Some sort of extreme hardware exorcism.

The bed creaks, very quietly, and Sam's weight shifts, just a little. He stops with his finger on the delete key, but doesn't turn around.

He's knows he's no longer alone, and he knows damn well who just sat down behind him.

After a second he hits the key again, selects another page.

"What are you doing?" Lucifer asks curiously over his shoulder.

"I'm deleting it all," Sam tells him flatly. "It's only gotten us into trouble."

"You do realise you're dreaming," Lucifer says sensibly, and it's really not fair that Lucifer is the one with the sensible tone of voice. "You're not actually accomplishing anything."

"It's a symbolic deletion," Sam decides. "And trust me if I could delete you too then I would."

"That's unkind Sam, wishing eternal oblivion on someone." Lucifer's faking honest hurt so damn well it makes Sam's skin crawl.

"I think if anyone deserves it, it's probably you."

"You don't even know me," Lucifer points out and he makes it sound like an invitation.

"I don't want to, I just want you to go away."

Lucifer sighs, like Sam's being unreasonable, then promptly gets distracted by the file he opens.

"Oh, not that one, I like that one." Lucifer taps the key to scroll down and Sam- smacks his hand without even thinking about it.

There's a long, tense pause.

But instead of doing something horrible and gruesome to him Lucifer pulls his hand away, a curl of breath and amusement flaring across the side of Sam's neck which he immediately leans away from.

"Can I at least finish the one where we team up to save the world from zombies, I was quite enjoying that one."

Sam frowns.

"I don't think that's finished, it's only on part six of ten- what am I saying? No, No you can't finish anything! You're a figment of my imagination, go away."

"Much as I love the way you fret about me when you wake up, you know very well that I'm not."

"That doesn't mean I have to talk to you."

"Sam, Sam, that hurts me, it does, I want us to be _friends._ "

Sam makes a rude noise.

"No, you want to steal my body and use it to take over the world."

Lucifer raises an eyebrow at him- and yes, ok, he might have been using his outdoor voice there. But, come on, he's being mocked by Lucifer for being overly dramatic. That's just unfair.

"I told you, I think I've changed my mind about that. I thought you'd be much less interesting." He's managed to slide himself close again, close enough to give off body heat and Sam can't exactly lean any further without dislodging the computer or falling off the bed.

"Could you not, please, that's really- you're making me uncomfortable."

Lucifer sighs, with a certain overblown sense of frustration and pointedly moves a good inch away.

"Better?"

"Yeah, that's fantastic," Sam says bitterly.

He stops looking at him for thirty seconds to continue his deletion and Lucifer is scrolling again.

"I wouldn't be this rough you know, and never without your permission-"

Sam snaps the laptop shut, narrowly missing the devil's fingers.

"Ok, I'm really not happy with the direction this conversation's taking at all and so I'm going to go and sit over there-"

Sam takes his laptop across the room, sets it up at the table.

"You're very resistant to conversation." Lucifer tells him, like he can't quite understand why Sam doesn't want to talk to him.

"You're invading my dreams."

"I could always show up in person," Lucifer suggests, like that's a perfectly acceptable thing to do. Like they haven't sworn to do horrible gruesome things to each other.

"No, really, that's- I really don't think that's best for any of us."

Lucifer sighs on the motel bed, like Sam is cruel to leave him there.

"I just want to talk to you Sam, that's all, talk to me and I promise I won't do anything to Dean, or Bobby or anyone else that means something to you."

Sam makes a rude noise of disbelief.

"I don't believe you, I can't believe you."

"What did I tell you about lying? That sometimes it's less of a weapon than the truth."

"That's not an answer, that's dancing around the issue."

Lucifer smiles, like he approves of the phrasing, if not the sentiment.

"I'm not lying," he says simply.

Sam stares at him, hard.

Lucifer holds his arms out to the side, in a 'what do you want from me,' sort of gesture. It's far too much like Dean's to fill him with any sort of comfort.

Lucifer rises from the bed, follows Sam to the table and slides into the seat opposite him.

"Why are you so afraid?"

"Why do you think?" Sam snaps back, and he's deleting more aggressively now, fingers stabbing down on the keys and he doesn't remember there being _so much_. What the hell have Dean and Castiel been doing, backing up every story ever written from their book adventures.

 _Jesus._

Lucifer lays his hand over Sam's, stilling it over the keys and Sam pulls straight away but there's no way he's getting his fingers back. Lucifer's skin is warm, far too warm, but other than that he feels completely human.

"Do you honestly think this will help?"

"I'm hoping it will make you stay out of my brain."

He's not expecting the smile he gets at that.

"Do you think about me like that?" Lucifer asks, curious and amused.

"No," Sam says roughly, voice horrified. "Most of the time I'm absolutely not thinking about you, and when I am it's to worry about whether you're going to kill us all today."

"If it makes you feel better I promise not to try and kill you at all."

"I don't believe you," Sam tells him, voice hard, honest.

"I can be kind," Lucifer protests and his tone is serious, strangely so.

"But not for free," Sam says pointedly because he knows better. Nothing comes for free, it's the one lesson he's learned. Nothing comes for free and certainly not from demons.

 _But he's not a demon._ Does that mean all the rules change, does that make everything he knows wrong?

"Sometimes for free," Lucifer's tells him, eyes dropping, just briefly, before rising to meet his own again, and his fingers dig, just a fraction into the back of Sam's hand.

Sam shakes his head, and he's still shaking it-

-but someone is shaking him.

Sam struggles his way out of sleep. Rolling towards the hand, expecting to find Dean. He finds the bright unnatural blue of Castiel's eyes instead.

"You were talking in your sleep," Castiel says, quietly but pointedly. "I thought it best to wake you."

Sam looks sideways, finds Dean still dead to the world, face shoved into his pillow.

He sighs out a breath of relief.

"Thanks, Cas," he manages.

  
~~~~

  
When Dean gets out of the bathroom he discovers that Sam's already come back with breakfast. Castiel's neglecting the computer in favour of sitting with him. Which is a bonus. Maybe he was paying attention to the whole 'the internet will melt your eyeballs' part.

He drifts over in the hope of sustenance.

"Good morning, Dean," Castiel says quietly.

The angel's staring at a plate which contains two thirds of a pancake and he's holding a fork, though he's giving it a dubious look, like he'd already forgotten what it was for.

Dean looks at Sam accusingly.

"Dude, did you _feed_ my angel?" he asks in a shocked voice.

Sam raises an eyebrow at him, and Dean glares back, rather than clarify or re-word the question.

"He wanted a pancake," Sam says eventually with a shrug.

"He's never wanted a pancake before," Dean protests.

Sam shrugs. "This morning he did, believe me, I was as surprised as you."

Dean drags a chair out and throws himself into it, before finding his own breakfast, which is significantly more deliciously filled with protein and ketchup.

Dean watches Castiel watch his pancake.

Someone put syrup on it too, probably Sam. He's not happy with simple pancake corruption he has to go the whole way.

"What if it _does_ something to him?" Dean can't resist asking.

"Dean, he's not a Gremlin," Sam points out helpfully.

Which is, yeah, that's probably a good point.

"He hasn't even told me what he thinks of it yet, I think he's still thinking about it."

"If you've broken him," Dean says fiercely around a mouthful of burger.

Castiel pokes the fork into the pancake and they both stop moving. Watch him very carefully tease a bit off.

He eats it with a careful attention, and chews like he's watched it done but never understood the point.

Then he stares a little more, like he's not entirely sure if he likes it or not. Or if he's even sure _how_ to like something.

"I see how it is," Dean complains. "One night exploring the benefits of Sam and his ridiculous floppy hair and he seduces you with pancakes."

Sam makes a rude noise.

"I have not been seduced by pancakes," Castiel says carefully. "They are interesting."

"Interesting good or interesting bad?"

Castiel frowns.

"Interesting," he settles on, which tells them all nothing.

"He probably has nothing to compare it to. It's the first thing he's ever eaten how's he supposed to know if it's good or bad," Sam says sensibly. "He hasn't gagged or thrown up yet, I'd say that's a plus."

Dean thinks about it for a minute and then offers the paper-wrapped weight of his burger.

Castiel stares at that too, and Dean wonders if he's actually going to make a decision before his arm goes numb and falls off.

Then the angel lifts his other hand and folds it over Dean's, before carefully tilting it down and taking a bite.

When he pulls away there's a red streak on the side of his mouth, and Dean doesn't even think twice about scrubbing it off with his thumb.

Sam makes a noise.

"Shut up," Dean says simply.

Castiel chews slowly and thoughtfully.

Sam and Dean wait in the silence for him to finish.

"Well?"

Castiel stares at them like it's a complicated question.

"I think I like the pancake," he pronounces eventually, in his deep serious voice.

Dean grunts disappointment.

"Sweet tooth," Sam says, with a certain amount of triumph.

"Sweet tooth," Dean agrees miserably.

"You owe me fifty bucks," Sam says seriously.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, bitch."

Castiel just looks bewildered over his breakfast.


End file.
